answer to his question-a moment both he and the Torguud captain knew was unnecessary. “You live to serve the Khagan, Captain, just as I do. As do Gansukh and Lian, in their own ways. The empire is too vast for one man to handle. It has a singular vision, yes, but managing the myriad of people and clans and resources is well beyond the ability of one man. The Khagan, then, has to rely on people he can trust. People he knows will act as he would act if he were doing the job he has given them.
“Now, consider recent events. The Khagan has fallen into a malaise-which happens every year at this time. In the past, he drank to excess so as to forget the pain of his brother’s death. This year, however, he has been convinced to make a spiritual pilgrimage to Burqan-qaldun.”
Convinced, in no small part, by Gansukh, which Chucai decided to not say aloud.
“During his journey, the Khagan has been attacked by a motley force of disgruntled Chinese rebels,” Chucai continued, “of which there are thousands and thousands scattered across his magnificent empire. This attack has been ably repulsed by his hand-picked Torguud captain. Your swift and decisive martial response not only ensures his safety, but validates his decision to make you the commander of the whole of his escort.”
Chucai leaned forward. “Think carefully, Munokhoi. Do you really want to disturb the Khagan’s goodwill by whining to him about Gansukh and Lian? Especially when all that you are really talking about is the relationship between a warrior the Khagan admires and a Chinese whore?”
Munokhoi lowered his eyes. “No, Master Chucai.” The muscles in his jaw flexed.
Chucai nodded and sank back into the embrace of his chair. “Thank you, Captain,” he said, stressing Munokhoi’s title to remind him how new it was-and still so easy to remove. “As I said earlier, I have heard your concerns. I will let you know if there is any assistance I might require.”
Munokhoi bowed, albeit shortly and stiffly, and retired from the ger. One of Chucai’s attendants poked his head into the tent as Chucai returned his attention to the scattered documents on his desk. “Master?” the man inquired.
“Find out where Master Gansukh is,” Chucai said without looking up. “Do not disturb him. I simply want to know what he is doing.”
The attendant nodded his understanding and vanished from the entrance of the ger, leaving Chucai to some long overdue privacy. He pressed the palms of both hands against his eyes. His head was pounding and he realized he hadn’t eaten or drunk anything since before the Chinese attack.
He was still waiting to hear reports from the war parties that had been sent out to ensure that the Chinese force had been decimated and that there was no sign of another group waiting to strike. It would be dawn soon, and the caravan needed to move, despite the fire damage and those incapacitated. He didn’t want to present too opportune a target, and as long as the caravan was moving he didn’t have to consider the more troubling issue.
Munokhoi’s patrols had failed to anticipate the Chinese attack. For all that he had just said to Munokhoi, the Torguud should have been better prepared.
He could insist that Munokhoi double the size of the patrols, but that was a game that the Chinese could play as well. At Karakorum, they had had the advantage of the walls and the city as well as the entirety of the Imperial Guard to provide adequate protection for the Khagan. But the Imperial Guard was not used to being mobile, nor did its leadership have the right experience.
Chucai drummed his fingers on the desk. What of the young pony? he reflected. Would Gansukh be a better choice to lead the Khagan’s guards?
An attendant pushed his way into the ger, a cup of steaming tea in his hands. Without a word, he placed it on the desk and backed out of the tent. The cup was warm and the tea was a pale yellow color, with tiny white streaks that reflected back the light. Chucai held the cup, inhaling the aroma of the white tea and letting his mind go blank. Letting all the tumbling concerns in his head slip free.
The Khagan. Shortly after his audience with Ogedei, Chucai had been accosted by Jachin, who accused him of making Ogedei despondent and distracted. The Khagan was ignoring her, mumbling on about hunting a great bear at Burqan-qaldun, about recovering his warrior spirit. This was Chucai’s fault: he had fostered this idea in the Khagan’s head; he had organized the caravan; he had allowed that whelp of Chagatai’s to whisper in the Khagan’s ear. It was his doing, and she would have no more of it.
As much as Munokhoi’s arrival had spared him further recriminations from Jachin, he had to admit there was some credence to her accusations. Ogedei was suffering from a lack of self-confidence, a lack of faith in his own ability to lead the empire.
For the most part, Chucai knew Ogedei’s concerns were unfounded. Genghis had chosen Ogedei as his successor for good reasons, and for many years, he had been pleased to watch Ogedei grow into a role most thought him incapable of filling. He had watched Ogedei deftly manage the lesser khans and their inane territorial squabbles; he had seen the Khan handle delicate diplomatic situations with both the Chinese and the Koreans with aplomb. He had witnessed Ogedei’s prowess in battle, a much different-yet equally critical-aspect of leadership.
In the end, it was something as simple and ludicrous as wine that threatened to destroy the empire.
Gansukh. What he had said to Munokhoi was entirely true: an empire could not be managed by one man. But it was true that some men wielded more influence than others. For some, their influence was obvious. Him, for example. Others, like Gansukh, might never be recognized by history, but their part in the overall success of the empire was paramount. Chagatai had chosen wisely.
It could have been ten; it could have been a thousand men sent by Chagatai to watch over the Khagan and keep him from drinking himself to death. But Chagatai had sent one man, and Chucai dared to allow himself the thought that Gansukh might actually succeed in saving the Khagan.
Which made this issue of Munokhoi’s report that Lian had been trying to escape all the more infuriating. He could insist that she remain in his ger, and Gansukh would take his lessons under his watchful eye, but he sensed that a great deal of the success of their lessons lay in Lian’s unfettered access to him. Doing so had its drawbacks though, and it was becoming more and more evident that he would, eventually, have to address Lian’s influence over the young warrior.
There was also the issue of the Spirit Banner and why the Chinese had tried to steal it. For what purpose? he wondered. And the cut in the wood, the scab where something had been trimmed off the banner? The scab was too much like a living tree’s effort to cover a wound, or like flesh healing after a cut from a knife. How could that be possible on a piece of wood that had been harvested and shaped many years ago?
His mind traced a complicated path through recent events. If the cut had not been made on the banner tonight, then when? And by whom? His mind returned to the female assassin who had fled the palace. When she had been spotted on the roof of the Khagan’s palace, he had-like everyone else-assumed she had not yet entered the building. But what if that was the wrong conclusion? What if she had been spotted as she was leaving? What if, much like the Chinese raid, her target hadn’t been the Khagan, but the Spirit Banner? If so, then this raid was a desperate-and much less subtle-attempt to accomplish what had failed earlier.
Chucai picked up his tea and sipped it carefully. They didn’t know, he mused. The Chinese had attacked because they thought their agent had failed. But what if she hadn’t? What if she had been successful in her theft and-had it not been for Gansukh and Munokhoi-escaped completely?
After the fruitless interrogation, the thief’s clothing had been searched, and nothing had been found.
Which meant either Gansukh or Munokhoi had taken something from her before she had been delivered to the Khan’s throne room. The fact that neither had admitted to having such a prize in their possession was-
“Master Chucai.”
Chucai looked up, still lost in thought, and he dimly recognized the attendant standing inside the
